


The Art of List Making and Red Lipstick

by siximpossiblethings



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siximpossiblethings/pseuds/siximpossiblethings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is forced to go to therapy once a week after his father dies, but not everything about it is all that bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of List Making and Red Lipstick

**Author's Note:**

> written for Suki's writing challenge! i wanted to flesh this fic out a little bit more, but i had to get it in today so some of it had to be rushed through. this is my first Les Mis fic so i apologize if the characterization is odd and/or off. i might add more to this if i end up wanting to! i like this AU and want to add more to it. unbeta'd so i apologize for any mistakes and general roughness!

Enjolras has a mental list of things that grind his gears tucked away in the back of his mind. This list includes heavy metal music, cigarette smoke, and injustice overall. Therapy has just been added to that list.

In his defense, attending wasn’t his idea. His mother, in all her frantic and pompous glory, had suggested he start going once a week to “get everything off his chest.”

 _Bullshit,_ he had had to stop himself from replying to her.

Enjolras could think of a million things he would rather be doing on his Saturday afternoons (scratch that – a million and one. He had just remembered swimming with sharks, minus the cage and plus a filet mignon hung around his neck) than sit in therapy and feel sorry for himself and cry over his “ _daddy issues_ ”. There was nothing Enjolras loathed more then feeling sorry for himself and he made sure to do it as infrequently as possible. Enjolras also tried to ignore his father’s existence at every possible chance.

He couldn’t do that anymore, though. His dad is dead now. Enjolras realized slowly after he got the news of his father’s accident (“Instantaneous,” the doctor said. “He didn’t feel any pain.” Enjolras didn’t know how to feel about that.) that even though his father was gone, he was more present than ever before.

That’s why Enjolras is waiting in a lobby for a session with a therapist, refusing to read the year’s old _Star_ magazine because another thing on his list is celebrity gossip rags like that. He couldn’t care less about whatever celebrity’s new lip injection or whose husband is cheating on them with whoever.

Enjolras is making another mental list of books he’s been meaning to read and work that needs to be done that he could bring to the office next week when he hears the office door open.

“Yeah, thanks, Dr. Myriel. See you next week.”

A girl is speaking and Enjolras glances up at her as she passes by. She’s tan with dark hair and very pretty. She is wearing eyeliner that’s begun to smudge. He figures she’s been crying. That’s normal in therapy, right? She doesn’t look down at him as she walks past, heading straight out the door. His gaze returns to his lap, world unchanged by the nameless girl he just laid eyes on. He remains like that for a moment longer, his name being called soon after.

“…Enjolras?” the receptionist calls out, stumbling over his name. “Dr. Myriel will see you now.”

~

Therapy isn’t bad, Enjolras decides. It isn’t that great either, but he thinks he can suck it up long enough to make his mother happy.

His first session wasn’t too serious. Just general “getting-to-know-you” type conversation that Enjolras normally didn’t like all that much (it wasn’t on his list just yet) but Dr. Myriel made it semi-enjoyable.

Dr. Myriel was a nice enough man, warm and friendly with a face that could make your words flow off your tongue like the Nile. He was a man who made you trust him instantaneously. Enjolras wasn’t sure if that was comforting or offputting.

“So,” Dr. Myriel began. “Enjolras. Why are you here?” He looked at Enjolras, waiting patiently for an answer.

Enjolras scratched the nape of his neck, searching through his mind for a good enough answer. As one who never _didn’t_ know what to say, Enjolras wasn’t sure how to explain the situation without sounding like the spoiled little rich boy he knew he secretly was.

 _Well, you see, my dad died but he and I had a cliché relationship where we didn’t get along because he wanted me to be someone I’m not and I didn’t pay attention and our whole dynamic got messed up because of it and now my mother is making me sit down here and tell this all to you because I’m “not handling it well” which isn’t true at_ all _because I’m just peachy._

He cringed at the thought of explaining all that to Dr. Myriel. Enjolras likes to present himself as put together and he feels that just by sitting on this couch across from someone taking notes about every tiny miniscule thing he says, well, he’s feeling not put together at all.

“My father died,” he says flatly. “My mother thinks I’m not handling it well so she sent me here.” He doesn’t elaborate any further. They have future sessions for that, right?

“Do _you_ think you’re not handling it well?” Dr. Myriel asks in reply.

“I don’t know,” Enjolras says. He’s shocked at how easy the truth rolls off his tongue.

~

The next week, Enjolras has his nose in a book he needs to read for his political science class. He’s perfectly on time and has scheduled his entire day down to a T, which includes meeting up with Combeferre and Courfeyrac to talk about a protest they’re planning next month.

The door opens up and Enjolras looks up for a moment. It’s the girl from last week, her hair slicked back into a ponytail. His eyes look back down to his book.

He can sense the girl’s presence sit down next to him on the waiting room couch. Enjolras scoots over a bit to the right, mind wrapped up in the words of Publius.

“…your phone?” the girl asks. Enjolras turns to her, quickly shutting his book.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” he says a little too quickly. He had been too wrapped up in _The Federalist Papers_ to hear her.

“It’s fine. I just asked if I could borrow your phone. I need to make a call.” Enjolras notices that she has brown eyes and her skin looks smooth to the touch.

“Yeah, of course,” Enjolras replies. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out the phone and hands it to her.

“Thanks,” she says with a smile. “I’ll be right back.” She stands up and walks out to the hall. He figures she  doesn’t want to bother the other patients waiting for Dr. Myriel.

Enjolras goes back to his book, only to realize that he’s lost his page. Lost pages in good books are on his never ending list of things he hates, too.

~

“So, Enjolras,” Dr. Myriel says with a smile on his face. “How are we this week?”

“I’m fine,” Enjolras says. He doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to say. Are you supposed to fall to pieces in front of your therapist automatically? It’s all Greek to him.

“Well,” Dr. Myriel begins, taking a glance at his notes. He knows Enjolras’ type. He’s had young men like him  in his office far too often. “You said last week that you were here to come to grips with your father’s death.”

“I’m perfectly at grips with it,” Enjolras says. He feels like he replied to that too soon.

“Then why are you here?” Dr. Myriel doesn’t ask it nastily. He asks with the genuine desire to know. People who ask because they want to know, not just to ask, are a rare type, Enjolras decides.

“My mother.” He knows that Dr. Myriel knows this. He’s probably just asking for some reason they teach you in Psych 101 that Enjolras can’t be bothered to ponder too hard upon. “She thinks I’m not grieving healthily.”

Dr. Myriel makes a note and then speaks. “Why does she think that?”

Enjolras thinks for a second and then admits “I sort of haven’t grieved at all.” It sounds harsher than he would have liked it to.

“Well, I suppose we’re going to get behind that,” Dr. Myriel says, a grin on his face and Enjolras can’t help but grin back.

~

Next week, Enjolras is back at the office, a little early for his appointment with Dr. Myriel. He’s on the couch drumming his fingers on the cover of _The Federalist Papers_ , which he just finished a few minutes ago. His appointment ended up not being scheduled this week, the receptionist apologizing and saying that the computer system must have messed up. Enjolras is surprisingly disappointed. Dr. Myriel is good to talk to, he won’t deny that. There’s also the fact that a whole hour has opened up in his schedule and Enjolras doesn’t like staying idle for too long. It’s unsettling to him. He’s decided to stay behind for a moment to collect himself and reorganize his schedule.

It’s raining outside, heavily unfortunately. He was supposed to go over to Joly’s apartment to convince him to help out with the protest that’s meant to take place in two weeks, but knowing Joly, he’ll probably think the rain will give him some disease only found in South American rain forests so Enjolras might as well cancel that. He figures he can go home and start that paper he was assigned last week. There’s the protest to think about, too, and Enjolras knows he needs to organize a list of guest speakers.

The door to Dr. Myriel’s office opens up, interrupting his train of thought. Enjolras glances up to see the girl he lent his phone to, last week. He looks back down before she can realize he’s looking at her.

The girl sits beside him again, searching through her bag and Enjolras tries to not be curious as to what exactly it is she’s doing and what her name is. She’s become someone who he expects to see every week and even though he doesn’t know _who_ she is, he likes the sense of continuity she gives.

“Hey, I don’t mean to bother you again,” she says, twisting her waist to face Enjolras. “But could I borrow your phone one more time? Mine isn’t working and I need to call a friend to pick me up.”

Enjolras looks up at her and notices she’s wearing bright red lipstick this week. That’s new. In all his quiet observations of her, he hasn’t noticed that before. “It’s not a bother,” he says, digging out his phone. “Here,” he hands the phone to her with a nod.  

“Thanks,” she says with a smile. “I’ll be back in a second.” She walks out to the hallway, just like last week, and disappears for about ten minutes.

The door to the hallway reopening, Enjolras sees her step into the waiting room, eyes downcast. “Thanks again,” she says, sitting back beside Enjolras. She doesn’t make a motion to leave like she normally would, which confuses Enjolras a bit.

“Everything okay?” He asks. It’s only of moment later he mentally kicks himself and says ‘ _You’re in a therapist’s office, asshole. Of course everything’s not okay.’_.

“Oh, it’s fine,” she says. “My roommate’s just not going to be able to pick me up today. She has some last minute lecture to go to.” She rolls her eyes playfully. “She’s going to see if she can pick me up when it’s over.”

“I can give you a ride home,” Enjolras says, always the first to lend a hand. “My appointment was cancelled so I don’t have anywhere to be.”

The girl looks unsure for a second, but soon, she grins and nods towards Enjolras. “Yeah, that would be perfect.”

~

Enjolras’ car is warm and dry, much to Eponine’s delight. He learns her name, after three weeks of seeing her as a constant. Now he can add some background to her.

“Thanks so much for this,” she says, sliding into the passenger seat. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s nothing,” Enjolras says. “Where do you want me to drop you off?”

“Just my apartment. It’s not too far from here. I’ll tell you as we go.” Enjolras had a difficult time picking up a vibe from her. She seemed very self-aware, yet she didn’t seem the type to let others in too easily.

“Alright,” he said, pulling out of his parking space. An odd silence fell over the two of them and something else on Enjolras’ list was silences like these. “Have you been going to Dr. Myriel for a long time?”

“Uh,” she began, straightening her back. “Not too long, I guess. Just a couple of months. I know you’re new,” she said. “Take a right here.”

“Yeah, I guess I am,” he replied, maneuvering down the street. “I’m not used to the whole therapy thing.”

“It takes awhile,” she said, not adding anything else.

Enjolras figured Eponine didn’t want to talk about therapy of all things, so he tried to change the subject. “Are you a student?” he asked. “You look kind of young, so I kind of just figured.”

“Yeah, I am,” she replied, grinning. “I’m a junior in college. Are you?” she asked, turning to face him.

“I’m a senior,” he said, grinning in return. He didn’t expect her to be younger than he was. Maybe it was the lipstick that made her look older. “What’s your major?”

“Pre-med,” she said proudly. “Yours?”

  
“Political science,” Enjolras said. “I’m trying to get into law school. You want to be a doctor?”

“Mhm,” she said. “I’ve still got a long way to go, but I’m pretty sure that’s what I’d want. Many a surgeon. I’m not sure.”

“That’s good,” he said. He made a left, then a right and continued driving. “You know, a group of friends and I are organizing a protest in two weeks.” He turned to look at her for a moment. “It’s about the healthcare system, how it needs to be fixed and what not. Maybe you could come.” He figured she might be interested, what with being a pre-med student and all.

“Really?” she said, her interest peaked. “That sounds like it would be right up my alley.” She grins and says “I live right on the next block.” She continues, saying, “Would you want to meet up for coffee sometime? So you could tell me more about the protest and all.”

“That would be nice,” he says. “When would be good for you?”

“Well, I’m free pretty much all the time when I’m not in class,” she says, shifting in her seat.

“Are you free now?” Enjolras pulls up to the apartment that she motions him to. Eponine looks slightly taken aback by that. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound overly enthusiastic I just—“

“Oh no, now is great for me, actually. You can come inside if you’d like. I can make coffee for us,” she says. Enjolras nods, with a smile, and they head inside.

~

Eponine’s apartment is cozy. It has an appealing feeling of kitschyness to it and he decides that he likes it.

“Just sit down on the couch for now. I’ll make the coffee in a bit,” she says, hanging up her coat. “It’s not much,” she says as she gestures to the general vicinity of the apartment, “but it’s home for now.” She smiles as she says this and Enjolras decides that she has a nice smile, one that brightens up the room.

“I like it,” he says. “It’s comfortable.” He hangs up his coat beside Eponine’s and she motions him to the coach. “You sure you don’t need help?”

“I’m pretty sure I can make coffee without burning the place down,” she says jokingly. “Just relax.”

A couple of minutes of small talk later, the two of them have piping cups of hot coffee.

“Do you add anything to yours?” she asks, back facing him as she pulls out a carton of milk from the fridge.

“No, thanks. I drink mine black.” Eponine smirked at that. She figured he was the type.

She handed him his cup and took a sip from hers, full of milk and sugar. “So tell me more about this protest. You’ve peaked my interest.”

Enjolras took a sip from his cup and began to speak. “Well, like I said, it’s meant to bring attention to how broken the health care system. My friends and I are trying to get some med school students to speak, but so far we only have our friend Joly.” He leans in over the coffee table, moving closer to Eponine.

“Why wouldn’t students want to speak?” She looks confused and cocks her eyebrow up and she drinks from her mug.

Enjolras shrugs. “Most said they didn’t like getting involved in politics. Some said they disagreed with fixing the health care system.”

Eponine shakes her head and places her mug down on the table. “I know kids like that. I can’t stand them. They’re the ones who are normally only in medical school because their dads were doctors. Those kids don’t really care about being doctors. It’s just a way to please dad,” she hmph’s and turns to face Enjolras. “I’ll definitely come now.”

“That’s great,” he says, eyes lighting up. Eponine was passionate; he could tell that much already. “It’s still sort of a work in progress, but you can come to one of the meetings we’re having next Saturday. They’re normally after my appointment. We have them downtown at this café we go to a lot.”

Eponine smiled and crossed her legs Indian style. “I would like that. It’s refreshing to see people who care about this stuff, you know?” Pushing her hair over her shoulder, she continued. “Do you do this stuff a lot? Protests and what not.”

“I would say so,” Enjolras says. “We had one last year for women’s rights in Union Square.”

Eponine laughs at that. “You sound like a poster boy for equality.”

“I try,” Enjolras says with a smile, taking a drink from his mug. The coffee wakes him up and he really begins to take in his surroundings. There are pictures on the walls everywhere. Eponine and a blonde girl with wide eyes, who he figures must be her roommate. Then there are ones that are slightly hidden. Eponine with a younger boy with blonde hair and a dark skinned girl with dark curly brown hair.  He catches himself looking a little too long and looks down into his cup.

“Those are my brother and sister,” she says, catching him looking at the photos. “They still live with my parents.”

“Do you see them often?” he asks. He can see the slight resemblence between Eponine and the other children. The boy is young, probably anywhere from nine to eleven. The girl looks a little older though, maybe about fourteen.

“As much as I can. We meet up every Sunday,” she smiles and Enjolras can tell right away that she loves them deeply. “They’re part of the reason why I want to be a doctor.”

“Why?” Enjolras normally doesn’t ask many questions when he’s having a conversation with someone. It’s normally the other person asking _him_ questions.

“Well,” she begins timidly. “Azelma got sick a lot when she was little. I ended up taking care of her a lot. Gavroche, too.”

It makes sense now, for Eponine to loathe those kids she described before, the ones who didn’t care about what being a doctor meant. For her, it’s personal and it’s a passion. Enjolras finds passion attractive.

They spend a couple of hours talking about their families, Eponine’s siblings and her parents, and Enjolras’ father and mother. He’s surprised to say the least, when he hears about her upbringing.

She’s not sensitive about it, either. Enjolras notices that right away. With all the people he’s met, he’s noticed that most of them try not to talk about ultra-private things and try to keep them swept under the rug. Eponine isn’t like that. She has no shame talking about her family and Enjolras feels a little ashamed compared to her in that aspect.

“My parents are my parents,” she says, a few hours and cups of coffee into their conversation. “I’m not exactly fond of them, but I can’t do anything about that.” She shrugs, taking another sip of coffee.

Enjolras talks about his father’s death, not staying on it too long. “We never got along,” he says simply. Eponine knows that it’s a topic he probably doesn’t want to explore too deeply.

It’s eight o’clock by the time Enjolras realizes he should probably leave. “I didn’t mean to overstay my welcome,” he says, getting up off the couch.

“You didn’t, don’t worry about it,” she says in return. She takes their mugs to the kitchen sink, where she’ll wait for Cosette to wash them eventually. “It was nice talking to someone who doesn’t take notes on every damn thing you say.” She giggles and walks towards Enjolras, who has put his coat back on and is about to leave.

He can’t help but agree. “I had a really good time. We should do this again soon,” he says. Eponine nods in agreement and leaves him her phone number.

“I’ll see you next week then?” she says, with a smirk decorating her lips. Enjolras is about to head down the stairs to his car.

“Next week,” he affirms, returning the smirk. She leans upwards and presses a kiss to his cheek. Enjolras is taken by surprise and Eponine  waves goodbye as she shuts the door behind him. He drives to his apartment, trying to think of why the _hell_ did one girl – who he didn’t know from Adam – make him feel better in the course of four hours than his therapist did in three weeks.

He’s not even sure when he felt bad in the first place, but Eponine can make you smile without even knowing it. He likes that and making a mental list of things that makes him smile and he adds Eponine to it. He’s thinking back on their afternoon as he unlocks the apartment door, Marius reading and taking notes on something for school in the living room.

It’s only when Marius points it out that he realizes that there’s a bright cherry red lip print on his cheek. Now that he thinks about it, red lipstick is pretty nice, too.


End file.
